


a brand new species

by Llwy



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, How Do I Tag, M/M, Oswald Has Powers, descriptions of injuries, pre S1, this is REALLY not as serious as the tags make it sound
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:48:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25237213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llwy/pseuds/Llwy
Summary: Edward is definitely going to find out why this man cannot die
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma
Comments: 2
Kudos: 41





	a brand new species

**Author's Note:**

> i meant to update my other fic but instead i got sick, listened to touch tone telephone on repeat for like 3 hours non-stop and wrote this

It’s Ed’s first night in Gotham, and, though he’s heard many tales about the city’s dark and crime ridden nature, it is still somewhat of a surprise to see a corpse lying by the trash cans in the side alley off of his apartment building. 

His shiny new forensic science degree and his hours of looking at crime scene photos tell him that the corpse was likely the victim of several shotgun blasts to the chest. Though he can admit that the shotgun haphazardly shoved into one of the trash cans is also a clue. The corpse is young, possibly handsome if one can look beyond the viscera painting its face a vivid crimson and the sizable hole blown through its chest. 

It’s not a particularly pretty sight, anyway, and Ed clutches his trash bag tighter and whispers a quiet  _ oh dear  _ to himself as he considers whether it is wise to phone the GCPD the night before he is due to begin working there, or whether he can just dump his trash and pretend he never saw anything. He’s never held a Real Job before, but he can’t imagine this being the best scenario to meet his new colleagues. He is pretty sure that murder cases are generally not considered the best icebreakers. 

“Are you just going to keep staring at me?” 

He jumps, possibly screams a little, and the corpse sighs loudly in response. It pushes itself slowly up the wall, supporting its weight with both palms, until it’s standing unsteadily. It looks like something straight out of a zombie movie.

“You should be dead.” He tells it, but it doesn’t appear to want to listen to sense and continues to move, despite the gaping wound in its chest. It pats down its suit jacket, seemingly looking for something, and Ed flinches as the material makes a sodden slap against the ruined flesh. He makes a half-step towards it, and it glares at him with a frankly unwarranted level of vitriol. 

“Where’s my knife?” It asks. Its voice is breathless, rasping, which makes a certain level of sense considering the cavernous hole where most of its chest should be. Of course, it still makes considerably less sense than the thing being able to speak at all. 

“ What's nowhere, but everywhere except where something is?” He asks in return, the riddle slipping between his lips with very little input from his brain, which is still occupied in wondering how the thing in front of him is even speaking. The corpse just blinks at him in response, and its lips open and close a few times before it finally answers.

“Did you just ask me a riddle?” It sounds absolutely incredulous, and, honestly, Ed can’t fully fault it for that. He is fairly sure that posing a riddle is not a common response to seeing a corpse walking and talking with half of its chest missing. It’s so  _ interesting,  _ though, and Ed’s mind is busy whirling with possibilities and theories as to what could have caused this. He came to Gotham to use his new skills to solve puzzles, and on his first night here one more intriguing than he could have ever imagined has just dropped into his lap. 

“Yes. Do you like riddles?” His brain has apparently decided that it is having nothing to do with this conversation, and his mouth is just completely running on autopilot in lieu of any intelligent instructions. 

“No.” It replies, and there is a brief stretch of silence where they stare at one another before Ed can’t take it anymore.

“Nothing. The answer is nothing. I didn’t see a knife. Just the shotgun.” He points a thumb to the shotgun sticking out of the trash can. “How aren’t you dead?” He continues, but the corpse ignores him. It crows in victory before stalking over to liberate the shotgun from its home among the refuse. 

“Well, I would say it was nice to meet you, but-” It places the shotgun butt against its shoulder and levels the barrel at Ed’s face, “that would be a lie.”

There’s a click when it pulls the trigger, then several tense moments where neither of them say a word. 

“I- I think it’s out of a-” Ed begins, but he is quickly cut off.

“ _ I can see that it is out of ammo, thank you! _ ” It screams at him, throwing the gun to the ground. It bares its teeth at him in a snarl, expression heightened by the streaks of drying blood across its face. Its fists are clenched, and it is positively vibrating with rage. It looks at his neck like it is contemplating whether it has the strength to crush his windpipe. 

Ed can see he will have to be the one to take the high road here.

“I think we got off on the wrong foot here-” He begins, and the corpse snorts inelegantly at that, “but I’m Edward Nygma.” He puts his hand out to be shaken, because that’s what people do when they meet someone new. The corpse just stares at it, however, so he may have misjudged the situation somehow. He tries out a smile, and that just makes the corpse furrow its eyebrows, anger seemingly forgotten in light of confusion. 

“You are quite a strange man.” It tells him, and Ed raises his eyebrows in reply. He gestures to the mortal wound in the corpse’s chest, and the corpse huffs out a laugh in response. 

“I suppose I can take your point.” It replies, and finally grabs his hand in its own. He expected ice cold fingers, like the corpses he had dissected in anatomy classes, but the corpse is warm. Alive. “I am Oswald Cobblepot.” 

“Do you - Should I call an ambulance?” Ed asks, finally, after Oswald lets go of his hand and steps back. 

“It’s a little late to be asking me that, don’t you think?” He replies incredulously. He’s short, several inches shorter than Ed, but he manages to make Ed feel absolutely tiny as he stares at him. 

“Well, by all rights you should be dead. Or at least  _ incredibly  _ incapacitated. Normally people aren’t particularly mobile or eloquent after having a hole punched through their chest, but you seem to be both.”

“Forgive me for this assumption, but you do not seem to be particularly bothered by it.” Oswald starts to pull the tattered remains of his suit together, presumably to try to hide his mortal wound. It doesn’t really help much, when his shirt is completely drenched in blood and gore. 

“Oh, I’m not. It’s absolutely  _ fascinating. _ How are you doing it?” 

Oswald eyes him warily for a few seconds, before waving his hands halfheartedly in the air.

“Magic.” He says, rolling his eyes. 

“Magic doesn’t exist.” Ed replies instinctively, “Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.” 

“You caught me, I’m a robot.” Oswald replies in a sarcastic monotone. He finally gives up on making his current ensemble presentable and holds out a hand to Ed. “Give me your jacket.” 

It’s an old jacket, bright green and bought in a spontaneous fit of whimsy during his first week of college. He’d worn it out exactly once and had felt proud and confident right up until he’d heard someone in the row behind him in his chemistry lecture laughing about how he looked like a leprechaun. He still feels reluctant about handing it over, though, and Oswald sighs loudly.

“ _ Please.”  _ He says, his jaw set and his voice tight with frustration. Ed still hesitates, and he deflates a little. “I can’t go home to my mother like this.” 

He seems earnest, and it’s enough that Ed finally shrugs the jacket off. It’s too large for Oswald, arms hanging comically long, but it successfully obscures the torn clothing and flesh. 

“Well, this has been… Something.” He says, patting Ed’s arm. “Let’s hope we never see each other again.” 

He strolls out of the alleyway, leaving Ed behind without a second glance. 

Gotham was even more interesting than he had thought, it seemed. If this was only his first night, he was pretty excited for what the future would bring. 

**Author's Note:**

> i will probably really regret posting this when i'm not sick and read this over to find all the errors but that seems like a problem for future me
> 
> i have no idea how shotguns work and after googling it while trying to research it i can say don't google what shotguns do at point blank


End file.
